The blunt end of the blog

May 28, 2014

One of the great similarities about London and New Zealand is the love we share for bluntness.

Obviously both places are somewhat plagued by a small concentration of people who insist on being fake, mysterious or just plain polite, but generally there seems to be a ‘tell it like it is’ attitude that is appreciated in both these parts.

Which is why I was sooooooo freaking happy when I found these cards. I wish I had known about these for every one of those glittery champagne flute decorated monstrosities I have passed on, for every sappy poem imprinted on the inside that didn’t reflect my true feelings about a situation, for every card I’ve sent out of obligation, that the recipient knew was out of obligation, but we both had to do the tango of the fake that is pretending to care about birthdays and babies and mid winter festivals.

My faves:

Exactly. If you invite me to a birthday party on a Saturday night I will probably come. Mainly because usually birthday parties involve drinking and that’s what I’ve already planned to do most Saturday nights. The onus is on you to supply cake though. If my bringing a folded piece of card printed with birthday platitudes is my ticket into the world of cake, then so be it. But let’s not pretend that birthdays are important. We’re not 7, folks. We’re adults now. I don’t like you any more or less or have any change of intensity of feeling toward you just because it happens to be X amount of years to the day since you fell out of a vagina head first and covered in gunk. Generally, if I’m at your birthday party, I’m happy you’re not dead and I’m thrilled for things to continue in this vein for a while longer. This is not dependent on your birthday, though.

This is just funny because it’s not me. Yet. Also, if you’re 40 you’ve been around the block enough times to know where the good cake is. I’m expecting tasty things in return for acknowledging your ever lengthening stay on the planet.

Sometimes this kind of advice is better than a generic platitude. It says “I acknowledge the big-ass situation at hand, but let’s not pretend it’s all rainbows and sunshine from here. I’m watching you. We’re all watching you.”

And if they do fuck it up, there’s always this:

I’ve actually uttered these words in the past. When shit goes down, the above words do come in handy. Who, on the other hand, has realistically “offered sympathy” out loud? No one. It’s always offered in card form and it’s bullshit. If it’s bullshit, let’s just call it such.

You know those obligation birthday parties you go to? The ones where you sit there thinking about how you could be doing your accounts instead…. and then kicking yourself when you realise how many other people didn’t show up and thinking why you couldn’t have thought of an excuse… and then feeling bad because not showing up to a birthday party really is a shitty thing to do to someone. Show up to the party because you’re a decent person, but give an honest card. Because frankly, if you love yourself enough to throw a big party and no one wants to be there, a little self examination may be in order. (And I don’t just mean you’ll be wanking alone because no one likes you. You’re filthy).

This cracks me up every time I see it. I don’t care if it’s an ‘old’ joke. It’s a funny joke, and that’s all I look for in my jokes.

Look, I’m busy and it’s cold out. I don’t have time to recall all of your religious quirks and sensitivities. Basically, we’ve probably both got some time off. Do what you’re gonna do. Whether that involves Santa, Jesus, Turkey or Goat Sacrifice has sod all to do with my card based gesture of good will.

If you’re in a relationship where Valentines cards actually happen, it’s probably for one reason. If we can test the waters early in the evening and find that they’re icy cold then we know that dessert will be the highlight of the day and we should make it good. So good that you’re left at the end of the night groaning on the floor unable to move. It’ll probably involve cheesecake.

Again, this is said a lot, and I find it to be often welcome. This is a card that says “I’m not just sending a card out of obligation, I really believe we should make plans to fuck shit up. How does Tuesday work for you?”

Yup. You’ve wasted a lot of your limited time on the planet drunkenly chasing hedgehogs. I don’t see why it’s up to me to to purchase a card to make you feel better about that. Embrace it or go home.

Oh, we all have people we’d love to send this to. We’re not going to say their names out loud here, but we’re all going to secretly think of them and smile.

Yeah. We all have met some twats named Noel. One friend of mine (years ago) after a particularly annoying episode with Noel hypothesized that you could go into any public toilet in the world and graffiti “Noel Sux” on the door and no one would disagree. Where writing “Metallica Rules” or “Sit on my face” would spark lively debate, people would just sit and nod, and say “Noel does suck” to themselves.

Apologies to anyone nice who happens to be named Noel. May I suggest some kind of support group?